The Edge of Nowhere
by smiles1777
Summary: Hibari/Haru - Haru never imagined she’d be in a relationship with Hibari. And now she wishes it never happened. Warnings: Angst, references to sex. Written for khrfest at LJ.


**Title:** The Edge of Nowhere

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** Angst, vague references to sex.

**Summary:** Haru never imagined she'd be in a relationship with Hibari. And now she wishes it never happened.

**Author's Note:** This was written for khrfest over at LJ. My prompt was Hibari/Haru - regrets; "It's not love."

* * *

They did it again.

She brings her knees to her chin, slightly trembling hands settling around her calves. The pillow behind her back is soft and would be comforting in any other circumstance. She is cold, so cold, bare shoulders shivering, but she refuses to bring the large comforter around her body. It smells like him, reminds her of how she clutched her fingers tightly in the thick fabric when he thrust into her, over and over.

Haru glances at the floor, eyes passing over their discarded clothes – or rather her discarded clothes, he always made sure to place his clothes somewhere on the desk, the chair, the bay window. He rarely fully undressed anyway, pants hanging around his ankles, shirt unbuttoned and slipping slightly off his torso, much like how his jacket is always balanced on his broad shoulders.

Hibari likes her fully naked, exposed, completely under his appraisal at all times. Usually she undresses herself, discarding around the room layers of shirts and jackets and bras, skirts and knee-highs and shoes. But he never lets her take her panties off herself. That privilege belongs to him and him alone, and she wishes she understood why he was so particular in this regard. Maybe then she'd understand a little more what this thing they'd gotten into was. She asked him once, after they had finished and he stuck around long enough to talk. She didn't get a response other than a narrowing of his slanted eyes. She never asked again.

She wishes they never started this, whatever it was. It hadn't seemed like such a big deal when it first happened. Tsuna had finally asked Kyoko out, and Haru was left forcing a smile as she helped her friend pick a dress for the date. She spent three torturous hours in her friend's room, as Kyoko happily prattled on about where they were going, what they were doing, would Tsuna try to kiss her, should she let him?

She wound up at his school, somehow. Why she sought out Namimori and not her own school she didn't care to think about. Perhaps because she always felt she belonged with them, with Tsuna, the guardians, the family. They all attended Namimori, they were always all together, and she was alone, apart, separated from them. She sat on the rooftop of the school, numb with thoughts and questions and self-pity. Then _he_ came along, with his cold stare and narrow eyes and that cute little bird that he had a soft spot for. He wanted her to leave, she was trespassing, leave, leave, you don't belong here. She was mad, she was tired, all she wanted was to be alone and wallow in her grief. But Hibari had to come around and remind her she didn't have a place with them, always separated.

So she hit him.

Or she tried to, but he was quick. And strong. He gripped her hair, she had let out a scream, and somehow they started to kiss and undress and she was slammed against a wall and he was _inside_ her and it felt really good.

She clutches her fingers tighter into her calves, nails biting her skin. It should have been that one time. That one time was reasonable, it was a mistake, it should have ended. But it didn't. They didn't.

She was trapped. She was not free to find a new love, and he did not provide her with the support she needed.

She closes her eyes when she hears the shower stop running. She knows what will happen next. He'll come out of the bathroom, dressed in a stark white shirt and pressed black pants, in such a perfect condition, no one would ever suspect what they had been doing just minutes before. He'll grab his jacket hanging over the chair at her desk, place it precariously over his shoulders. He'll pause at the door, her heart will thump, her stupid, stupid heart that wishes he'd just look at her once. He'll straighten the cuff on his left hand and leave, the door closing with a soft but decisive _click_.

This isn't love.

Love is patient.

_Her fingers worm their way slowly to her panties, black and silky and all-too-feminine. Before she has even touched the hem, his hands push hers away, impatiently tugging the offending garment down and away._

Love is gentle.

_He bites her neck again, a sharp pain that blends so well with the pleasure he's bringing. Rough hands grip her hips, she'll have bruises in the morning._

He walks past her without looking at her, just like she knew he would. She's done with this, with him, with them. She wants out, she wants freedom, she wants love.

"Let's stop this," she says clearly despite the lump in her throat. She suddenly feels her shivers increase, she's much colder now than before. She feels that she's on the verge of losing something, her connection to the family, her right to stay beside them.

He pauses at the door and adjusts his left cuff. "No."

She watches him leave, hugging her knees and breathing deeply. She crawls under her covers, giving in finally and feels the blessed relief of warmth, and comfort surrounds her. No, it isn't love, but it's hers.


End file.
